due MOONLIGHT
by Nocturne in C Moll
Summary: In Ep. 2 of Moonlight, Mick can't finish killing Lee Jay in 1983 because "this cop comes out of nowhere." Where is nowhere? What if it were Chicago, several years later? And what if it was not one cop, but two--and maybe a deaf wolf and a ghostly father?
1. Chapter 1

**Introductory note:** "This cop comes out of _nowhere_…" —Ever wonder about Mick's line from "Out of the Past," when he's explaining to Josef why he couldn't finish killing Lee Jay back in 1983? Well, pluralize that cop and here's your answer: Chicago. Think of this as a Freaky Friday-type situation—but instead of switching personalities…well, you'll see.

**Author's note:** This was getting really long and taking me too long to finish, so I finally decided to post it in two "episodes." I'll post the second as soon as I finish it. I didn't have time to have this beta'd (though I sent Barb a few bits and pieces to peek at), so hopefully it flows and doesn't have too many major plot holes... Please inform me if you find any errors of any kind.

**Disclaimer:** I have shamelessly pillaged several characters and some of my favourite lines of dialogue (directly quoted or adapted) from the long-ago cancelled (by CBS) television show, Due South—about an upright Canadian Mountie (played by Paul Gross) and his deaf half-wolf, Diefenbaker, who, long story short, team up with a snarky Chicago detective (played by David Marciano) to solve crimes and help people. Fraser's father (played by Gordon Pinsent) also showed up from time to time in order to dispense sometimes useful and sometimes utterly ridiculous advice…

**_._**

**_due_**** MOONLIGHT** (or, **"These cops came out of nowhere!"**)

**Episode One**

* * *

_Los Angeles__, 1983... _

* * *

A balding man with a shaved head ambled down the street, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Every few steps, he looked behind him, then across the street. Finally he reached a light blue two-door convertible, opened the driver's side door, and stowed the duffel inside.

He was about to climb in when a voice came from the shadows: "You killed her."

Lee Jay Spalding spun around, searching the darkness.

"You made it look like a suicide," the voice spoke again.

Something moved in the shadows of the entrance to the store across the sidewalk.

"Who are you?" Lee Jay called out.

Mick St. John stepped into the light, which only served to highlight his pale skin and white eyes in the surrounding darkness. An animalistic snarl displayed the tips of his fangs.

Lee Jay grabbed a crowbar from his duffel and swung it at his accuser, only to have his arm jerked back and the weapon twisted away from him. He grunted as a fist planted itself in his face and heard the clank as the bar hit the ground.

Mick flew at him and shoved him up against the convertible.

Lee Jay writhed under the iron grip. "Oh my god…what are you?"

Mick reared his head back.

* * *

_Chicago__, 1995...for the moment_

* * *

"…Fraser, I am not getting into that dumpster with you. Don't even ask, don't even think about it. Do you know how many suits I've ruined, frolicking in refuse for you? And _you_, you always come out looking like you're fresh from the dry cleaner's. Sometimes I swear you were Scotchguarded at birth." Detective Ray Vecchio stopped suddenly and looked around. "Hey, where'd the dumpster go? Where the hell are we? And who turned out the lights?!"

Constable Benton Fraser had stopped a few feet ahead of him and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the snatches of horizon peeking in between the buildings. He turned to his partner. "Well, it would appear that we are in L.A., Ray."

Ray's eyes went wide. "L.A.? _Los Angeles_, L.A.?—are you kidding me? We were just in Chicago! And it was daytime!"

"Well, it would appear that we are not in Chicago anymore."

"Oh yeah? And do you have some Mountie thing that can explain how we suddenly ended up over 1700 miles away at a different time of day?"

Fraser scanned the buildings on the other side of the street and shook his head slowly. "This scenario wasn't covered in the handbook."

"There's a _Mountie handbook_?"

Fraser shook his head again. "No; Scouts."

Ray held up a hand. "—You know what? Never mind. How do you know we're in L.A.?"

Fraser started to open his mouth, but Ray cut him off again. "No, wait—don't tell me: there's a blue heron over there pointing its beak at a street sign which you recognized from a street map of L.A. in your grandmother's library that you memorized when you were a kid—well, Fraser, I hate to break it to you, but that map's _probably_ a little outdated now."

Fraser nodded toward a hill visible in the distance between two buildings and pointed at some large, white letters illuminated by spotlights. "Actually, I believe that's Hollywood right over there, Ray."

"Oh." Ray looked all around himself. "You're right, Benny, we're in L.A.! And we're not on vacation."

"No, we are not. Also…" Fraser trailed off. "Never mind."

"What?"

Fraser shook his head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"It _doesn't matter_? We're in Chicago one second and L.A. the next—is there anything you could say right now that _wouldn't matter_?"

The Mountie hesitated a second. "Very well… Also…I believe it's 1983."

"What's 1983?"

"This—here. The time where we are. Right now. A moment ago, there was a woman walking down the street in definite early 1980s-style attire, which wouldn't necessarily be telling except that the movie theatre over there is showing Return of the Jedi, Risky Business, and Zelig; all movies that came out in 1983. Also—"

"_What_?!—Shut up, okay? Just shut up for a second—_1983_?! We travel from 1995 Chicago to L.A.—and not even 1995 L.A., but 1983 L.A.—and that _doesn't matter_?"

"It was a moot point, Ray. We'd already crossed two time zones in a matter of—"

But Ray's attention was already elsewhere. "—All right, Fraser, now something is _definitely_ wrong with your wolf. What's he _doing_ over there?"

"What?—oh. I believe he's looking for our trail. He's understandably confused—his scent stops and ends right there."

Diefenbaker suddenly stopped running in circles, barked and raced off across the street. "Dief!" Fraser shouted after him and gave chase. "Stop! Come back! Diefenbaker!"

"Diefenbaker! Un-mush!...Un-mush!" Ray followed, puffing. "—Why do we bother yelling after a deaf wolf anyway? Unless he's got eyes in the back of his head, he can't read our lips this way! You oughtta get that dog a hearing aid! —Hey Fraser, wait up! …You know what, on second thought, _don't_ wait up! …I don't want to be seen with you if you lose track of Dief and start sniffing for wolf piddle again! Who knows what kind of animal you might accidentally sniff here!"

A few moments later, Ray skidded, panting, to a stop beside Fraser. Diefenbaker was standing a few feet ahead, hackles raised, growling at a dark-haired man who had another man pushed up against a car and was hovering over him.

"All right, freeze!" Ray pulled his gun. "Police! You're under arrest. —Fraser, they're under arrest, right? Both of them? …Fraser? Yoo-hoo…Fraser?" He followed Fraser's gaze to the dark-haired man who had just raised his head from the other man's neck. There was blood dribbling down the man's chin. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—what the hell is going on here?" Ray yelled.

"Ray…" Fraser interjected.

Ray raised his gun higher. "What are you doing? Are you _biting_—is he _biting_—him? —What kind of sicko are you? Some kind of Hannibal Lecter wannabe?"

Fraser reached out and touched his friend's shoulder. "I don't think so, Ray—look. A crowbar is lying on the ground over there, and the apparent victim doesn't have any defensive wounds—or any wounds at all, for that matter, _except_ the two puncture wounds on his neck."

Ray stared blankly.

"The 'victim' obviously attempted to defend himself with the crowbar, only to find himself quickly disarmed and overpowered. Either his attacker is extremely well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, or he has superhuman strength and speed. Now, normally, I would assume the former, and would perhaps even consider that with your cannibal theory, if it weren't for the two clean and even bite marks on the victim's neck. Human bites are never that clean—and yet, he appears to be human."

Ray stared blankly, but his brow started to twitch.

"Ray, I believe this man is a vampire," Fraser finished.

Ray finally found his tongue. "A vampire? A _real vampire_? —Next you'll be telling me that Dief is actually a _were_wolf!"

"Well, that's just silly, Ray. I will admit, that at first I thought I may have had a hole in my bag of marbles, but—"

"Oh, come on, Fraser, you expect me to believe that this man is a _vampire_?"

"Well, yes. You know, Ray, my father once told me that the sky isn't just above you; that if you look at the horizon, you will see that it actually touches the ground. So if you think about it, wherever you go you are actually walking in the sky. "

"Is there a point you're trying to make with this, other than that you're a freak?"

"Well, yes, but I've forgotten exactly what it was. It was something to do with the supernatural, and how we think it's far out of our reach, when really, it's all around us, right in front of our noses." Fraser tapped himself on the nose.

"You bet it's right in front of my nose, I'm staring down the barrel of my gun at a _vampire_!"

"Well, exactly, Ray."

"Benton!" a voice said urgently behind Fraser's shoulder.

"Oh, no," Fraser groaned.

"Oh no _what_, Benny? You _finally_ remembered that vampires like to go around in the dead of night and drink people's blood?" Ray hissed at him.

"I _hate_ that," Mick muttered several feet away. Ray ignored him.

Fraser sighed. "No, it's not that, it's my father—"

"What, don't tell me that when your father died, he somehow turned into a vampire."

"That's just silly, Ray," Fraser shook his head. "—No, I mean my father is _here_."

"Here? In L.A.? _Now_? But he's—oh, you mean your father was in Los Angeles in 1983?"

"What? No—no, I mean…uh, never mind, Ray."

"Benton!" Fraser Sr. tapped his son on the shoulder.

"What? What is it?" Fraser snapped.

"There's no need to be alarmed, but you're standing 10 feet from a vampire."

"Yes, I can see that!"

"See what?" Ray scowled.

"I'm standing 10 feet from a vampire."

"Didn't we just cover this?"

"Well, yes, but he sometimes he likes to point out the obvious."

"What—who? —Is there an entire conversation going on here that I'm totally unaware of?"

"Yes," Fraser stated.

"All right, enough! _Enough_. —Benny? We're going to talk about this later. —_You_, vampire! Put your hands up in the air and identify yourself," Ray ordered. "—And _you_, on the car—stay put."

The attacker stepped back and raised his hands slightly. "Mick St. John, I'm a private investigator. And this man, Lee Jay Spalding, is a murderer. I was hired by this man's wife to protect her from him. He killed her anyway, like he killed his first wife. And he'll kill again if I don't stop him—permanently."

"The vampire is lying—he was just trying to eat me!" Lee Jay whined.

"Shut up!" Mick snarled and Ray yelled in unison.

Mick turned to Ray and Fraser and sighed. "Look—if you want to, talk to Bobby Desmond of the LAPD. He'll confirm what I'm saying. Uh—but I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the whole vampire thing. He kinda doesn't know."

"How can he not know?!"

"Well, you didn't know until the guy in red told you," Mick shrugged.

"Oh, great, just great—of all the vampires, I had to get a wise guy."

"Speaking of red," Mick creased his brow at Fraser, "—Are you a doorman for that new hotel down on the waterfront?"

Fraser tilted his head. "Ah—no; a common misconception. Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Oh—a Canadian cop? What are you doing in L.A.?"

"That's an excellent question," Ray cut in. "Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD," he identified himself. "And five minutes ago, we were _in_ Chicago. _And_ it was 1995—which suddenly doesn't seem so weird now that I'm face-to-face with a vampire," he muttered.

Mick cocked an eyebrow and transferred his gaze back to the Mountie.

Fraser acknowledged this with a dip of his head. "What Detective Vecchio says is true. While I can't explain how I—we—wound up in your city, I can explain how I came to your country: you see, I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

Mick nodded slowly.

Fraser Sr. looked over at Mick and said, "He's talking about me. I'm dead."

"You _know_ he can't see or hear you, Dad," Fraser sighed. "I'm the only one who can—well, except your friend Buck Frobisher, of course—who, by the way, bears an uncanny resemblance to the Canadian actor and comedian Leslie Nielsen."

"Well, no, I don't know that, Benton—I'm a ghost; he's a vampire. We're both supernatural creatures. Why shouldn't he be aware of me?" Fraser Sr. glanced at the vampire again and started flapping his arm at his son. "Benton, Benton—see? He's looking at me!"

"_No_, Dad, he's looking in your _direction_."

"Mm-mmm, mm-mmm," Fraser Sr. grunted, shaking his head and a finger. "The vampire made definite eye contact with me."

Fraser put a palm to his forehead and exhaled loudly. "Excuse me, Mr. St. John," he addressed Mick, "but would you mind settling a dispute?"

"Your friend Detective Vecchio over there wants to shoot me"—Mick shot a look at Ray—"and you want me to settle a dispute?"

"It's a Canadian thing," Ray interjected.

Fraser continued, "Well, yes; I hate to ask it of you, but he won't leave me alone until you do."

Mick furrowed his brow. "Who won't?"

"My father. His ghost is right over there," Fraser pointed to where his father was standing.

"I drank blood once—just a little. Tasted terrible," Fraser's father muttered to no one in particular. "It was your Uncle Tiberius's idea—we were twelve; he dared me."

"So that explains the whispers I keep hearing but can't quite make out. There's also some kind of disturbance in the air, there." Mick nodded toward the spot Fraser had indicated.

"A disturbance—yes, that sounds like him," Fraser said under his breath.

"What's that, son?"

"Oh, nothing, Dad."

"—Would everybody please shut up for a minute?" Ray broke in. "I have a _gun_ pointed at a _vampire_ here, and nobody seems to care about that!" He started waving his free hand around to accompany his words. "—Why is this my life? Mounties, wolves, ghosts, vampires…"

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Ray. Go ahead; do whatever it is you were going to do."

"—Come to think of it, it was right after I drank the blood that Tiberius's obsession with cabbage leaves began," Fraser Sr. mused. "Huh."

"Well, I don't know what they do with vampires in Canada, Fraser, but here in the United States of America, we shoot 'em." Ray raised his gun a little higher.

"Oh. Well, I don't think that's a good idea, Ray."

Ray lowered his gun slightly. "Oh, and why not, Fraser? Do vampires turn into zombies when you shoot them?"

"Now, that's just silly, Ray."

"Did it occur to you, Fraser, that the vampire might want to kill _us_?"

"Well, I can't imagine why he'd want to do that. We're certainly no threat to him."

"Exactly my point, Fraser. We're no threat to him—_meaning_, he could kill us at anytime...unless we strike first."

"You know, Ray, the fact that we have not known of vampires existing before seems to indicate that vampires do not go around killing people at random, and are in fact functional, productive members of society. We may actually be better off with having them around."

"Oh, really? And tell me, Fraser, just what do I need with a vampire?"

"Ah. Now, that—that's an interesting question. Compare vampires to wolves. According to folklore, the vampire is a hunter, a creature of prey, just as the textbooks describe the wolf. Now, the Inuit—"

"I knew he was going to bring up the Inuit…I just _knew_ it," Ray ranted under his breath.

"—The Inuit take a very different view of it; they have their own idea of why the wolf was created. In the beginning, so goes the legend, there was a man and a woman, and nothing else on earth walked or swam or flew, and so the woman dug a big hole in the ground, and she started fishing in it, and she pulled out all of the animals. The last animal she pulled out was the caribou."

"I thought this story was about wolves, Benny," Ray said impatiently.

"Oh, they'll be along in a minute." Fraser started pacing. "The woman set the caribou free and ordered it to multiply and soon the land was full of them and the people lived well. They were happy. But the hunters - the hunters only killed those caribou that were big and strong, and soon all that was left were the weak and the sick. And the people began to starve. And so the woman had to make magic again. And this time she called Amorak, spirit of the wolf, to winnow out the weak and the sick. So that the herd would once again be strong. And the people realized that the caribou and the wolf were one. For although the caribou feeds the wolf, it is the wolf that keeps the caribou strong."

Diefenbaker let out a long, eerie howl.

Ray glared at him. "Oh, very funny—what, you think you're a wolf or something?" He turned back to his friend. "So what are you trying to say here, Fraser? That we should let the vampire eat us?"

Fraser shrugged. "Perhaps? —Well, no, I mean, I don't mean us. But maybe this man"—he gestured to Lee Jay—"if he really _is_ a violent killer…"

"He is," Mick broke in. Lee Jay let out a groan.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, Benny—" Ray shook his head. "You don't even have capital punishment in Canada. But hey, who am I to complain? As long as the vampire doesn't eat _us_, I can cut him some slack if he gets a violent killer off the streets in a less-than-orderly fashion."

Mick held his hand up to halt their conversation. "Look, just for the record, I have no interest in 'eating' either of you."

"Oh, well, thank you, that's very comforting," Ray said sarcastically.

"I'm only interested in getting this bastard off the streets—and now that we seem to be in agreement, I'm going to finish the job." Mick took hold of Lee Jay's collar in his one fist and his neck in the other.

"Wait!" Ray cried.

"What?" Mick growled.

"What if this is like Back to the Future?"

"Back to the what?" Mick frowned.

"That movie doesn't come out for another two years, Ray," Fraser pointed out.

"Okay, fine, but my point is still valid. What if we're interfering in history here, just like Marty McFly?"

"Who?" Mick furrowed his brow.

Fraser shook his head. "It's 1983, Ray, we're both in our early twenties by this point. It's highly unlikely that stopping Mr. St. John from killing Mr. Spalding would prevent either of us from being conceived."

Ray stared hard at his friend.

"Back to the topic at hand," Mick broke in, "you're _not_ altering history. I always intended to kill him, before _and_ after you showed up, and I _thought_ you guys had decided that you were okay with it."

"Well, then maybe that's the point," Ray said. "Maybe, we were sent here to stop you. Maybe you killing Lee Jay right now would irrevocably alter the course of your life."

"Ray makes an excellent argument," Fraser tilted his head. Diefenbaker barked in agreement.

Mick stared at them for a moment. "I can't believe I'm listening to two strange cops and a wolf." He scowled and punched Lee Jay hard in the stomach. "Get out of here," he snarled in his face. "—But if you _ever_ kill again, know that I will find you. I _will_ hunt you down and I _will_ kill you." He released the collar of Lee Jay's shirt that he had been holding.

Lee Jay stumbled a few steps and got into his car, pressing his fingers to his neck. With shaking hands, he managed to find the keys and insert the right one into the ignition. Thirty seconds later, his car was out of sight.

Mick watched the taillights disappear, then turned back to Ray and Fraser. "You better hope you're right," he shook a finger at them. "You just let a killer go free with a warning."

"Well, it was a stern warning—you have to admit that at least," Ray said.

**_  
To be continued…_**

﻿


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Here it is, at long last...the second and final "episode" of **_due_** **MOONLIGHT**. This has not been beta'd (please tell me if you find any errors of any kind), and I probably rushed in a couple of places, just as in part 1...but...at least it's finished! It's probably also the only thing I'll have time to post before Christmas, so... Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

**Disclaimer:** I have shamelessly pillaged several characters and some of my favourite lines of dialogue (directly quoted or adapted) from the long-ago cancelled (by CBS) television show, Due South—about an upright Canadian Mountie (Benton Fraser, played by Paul Gross) and his deaf half-wolf, Diefenbaker, who—long story short—team up with a snarky Chicago detective (Ray Vecchio, played by David Marciano) to solve crimes and help people. Fraser's father (played by Gordon Pinsent), also showed up from time to time in order to dispense sometimes useful and sometimes utterly ridiculous advice… The usual Moonlight disclaimers also apply.

.

**_due_** **MOONLIGHT** (or, **"These cops came out of nowhere!"**)

**Episode Two**

Previously on _due MOONLIGHT_…

*****

Lee Jay writhed under the iron grip. "Oh my god…what are you?"

Mick reared his head back.

*****

Ray skidded, panting, to a stop beside Fraser. Diefenbaker was standing a few feet ahead, hackles raised, growling at a dark-haired man who had another man pushed up against a car and was hovering over him.

He followed Fraser's gaze to the dark-haired man who had just raised his head from the other man's neck. There was blood dribbling down the man's chin. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—what the hell is going on here?" Ray yelled.

"Ray, I believe this man is a vampire."

*****

Mick creased his brow at Fraser, "—Are you a doorman for that new hotel down on the waterfront?"

Fraser tilted his head. "Ah—no; a common misconception. Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Oh—a Canadian cop? What are you doing in L.A.?"

"That's an excellent question," Ray cut in. "Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD," he identified himself. "And five minutes ago, we were _in_ Chicago. _And_ it was 1995—which suddenly doesn't seem so weird now that I'm face-to-face with a vampire," he muttered.

*****

"My father. His ghost is right over there," Fraser pointed to where his father was standing.

"So that explains the whispers I keep hearing but can't quite make out. There's also some kind of disturbance in the air, there." Mick nodded toward the spot Fraser had indicated.

*****

"Maybe, we were sent here to stop you. Maybe you killing Lee Jay right now would irrevocably alter the course of your life."

"Ray makes an excellent argument," Fraser tilted his head. Diefenbaker barked in agreement.

Mick stared at them for a moment. "I can't believe I'm listening to two strange cops and a wolf."

*****

Mick watched the taillights disappear, then turned back to Ray and Fraser. "You better hope you're right," he shook a finger at them. "You just let a killer go free with a warning."

"Well, it was a stern warning—you have to admit that at least," Ray said.

*****

The three men stood there awkwardly for a moment. "So…what are you guys going to do now?" Mick finally said.

"Well…we don't really have the slightest idea. Can you perhaps recommend some sort of inexpensive accommodation which doesn't require valid identification?"

"Or, even better, can you tell us how to get back to Chicago in our decade?" Ray cut in.

Mick sighed and thought for a moment. "Well, you obviously didn't bring a vehicle with you when you materialized from Chicago, so come take a ride with me. A friend of mine—yes, also a vampire—is much older than me. If anyone around here will know anything about anything like this, it'll be him—and I think he'd _love_ Fraser's wolf story."

"Yeah, I bet he'll just lap it right up," Ray scowled.

"Ray, I'm aware that old people make you nervous, but, you know, the aged are just like people, too, only…they're older." Fraser ignored Ray's sputtering and said to Mick, "Just lead the way, Mr. St. John, and we'll follow."

"Okay—and call me Mick. I'm parked just on the other side of that overpass."

"Ah," Fraser smiled and turned to follow. Diefenbaker trailed alongside him.

Ray grabbed Fraser's sleeve and stopped him mid-stride. "Benny!" he hissed. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to ride in cars with strangers? _Especially_ strange vampires?"

"Well, perhaps she would have; but she died when I was six, and at the time, we lived in a small northern village where there were hardly any strangers…or vampires, for that matter." He frowned suddenly. "—Well, at least, not that I know of."

"What about your father? Are you telling me that the man who told you to pin your wallet to your underwear didn't tell you not to ride in cars with strangers?!"

Fraser shrugged uncertainly.

Mick stopped a few strides ahead and turned around. "Look, I'm not planning to kill you, so just relax. And another suggestion—when you meet him, don't refer to Josef as 'old' or 'aged.' He may be over 400, but he looks younger than you."

"_400_?!" Ray cried. "Oh, man, that's old!"

They were midway over the overpass when a sudden gust of warm wind snatched Fraser's hat off his head and blew it down to the muddy ground underneath the structure.

"My hat!" Fraser cried, clutching the top of his head. He grabbed the railing and peered over it at the hat down below. "I don't see a way to get down—Ray, I'll have to go home and get my other one."

"Fraser, I would love to go home to Chicago, but do you have any idea how we can do that? —No? Didn't think so. And we can't go to Chicago _here_, because you weren't in Chicago at this time, and therefore neither would be your other hat."

"Well, I could go _home_ home and get my other hat."

"What, you mean _Canada_? You want to go to Canada _now_?! It's 1983, Fraser! Yeah, the forty dollars I have in my wallet will go further here than in 1995, but it's still not enough to get us to the _Yukon_!"

"Ah," Fraser tapped the side of his head, "but we have legs, Ray, and they don't cost a thing."

"Now you want to _walk_ to Canada? I cannot believe I'm even discussing this with you! There is no way we are walking all the way to the Yukon from Los Angeles just to get a hat!"

"Oh—you're right, Ray. The dates on our identification would be immediately suspicious to the customs officers—they'd stop us at the border."

"Aghh!" Ray whirled around in frustration and raked his fingers through his hair. "—Besides, Benny, in 1983 you were still in Canada—what if you bumped into yourself?"

"Oh! Oh, dear. I didn't even consider that—that could indeed be catastrophic. Although, I'm sure I could reason with my other self—"

Mick coughed suddenly beside them. "Uh, hey, while you guys were…talking, I jumped down and retrieved the hat." He held out Fraser's Stetson.

"Oh! Thank you kindly, Mick." Fraser smiled appreciatively and replaced the hat on his head.

"Geez, Benny, he's like you—only with _actual_ superpowers!"

Mick cleared his throat. "Uh, I prefer to call them 'special abilities.'" He turned and started walking again.

Ray stared after him. "What's wrong with having superpowers? I would love to have superpowers!"

"How about special abilities, Ray?"

"Oh, what, you don't think I have any special abilities, Fraser? What about my talent for recognizing noses?"

"That's definitely a 'special' ability, Ray."

"Oh, yeah, and what about you, Benny? You pick things up off the ground and you put them in your mouth!" Ray jabbed the air for emphasis.

"For the purposes of collecting and analyzing evidence, Ray."

Mick stopped ahead and called over his shoulder, "Hey, are you guys coming, or what?"

Fraser and Ray exchanged glances and started jogging.

"Are you guys always like this?" Mick asked when they caught up.

"Like what?"

Mick hesitated a moment. "Never mind."

Fraser and Ray shrugged and followed Mick down the other side of the overpass.

Mick stopped in front of a bottle green convertible. "Well, this is my car."

"Wow, and _what_ a car!" Ray ran his hand across the trunk. "Fraser, this is a 1965 Mercedes 250SE Cabriolet!" he said excitedly and turned to Mick. "—Is this really yours?"

Mick nodded. "Yeah. I've had it for almost two decades now; bought it new."

Ray shook his head in admiration. "Back in Chicago, I have a mint green 1971 Buick Riviera."

Mick flared his nostrils and nodded appreciatively. "Nice car! Great lines—love that boat tail."

"It's a thing of beauty, ain't it? Believe it or not, I'm on my third Riv—speaking of which, maybe I'd better sit shotgun. If Fraser sits up front, he might open the glovebox and read the manual, and use that information at a later date to force you to shoot your own gas tank in order to blow up your car to save your lives from a bunch of Canadian mobsters." He shot a look back at Fraser.

Mick looked at Fraser, who shrugged. "I will concede to that, but I had _nothing_ to do with the second one being blown up; that was _all_ Ray." When Ray turned to glare at him again, Fraser raised his hands defensively. "What! That bomb was intended for _you_!"

"Yeah, whatever," Ray sulked.

"Look, I don't know if new cars are your thing, but Josef has a Ferrari 430 Spider convertible. Now, driving it would be out of the question, but maybe I can convince him to let you take a peek at it."

"Is it red?" Ray asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"Yeah."

"Maybe Benny'll like it—it goes with his uniform," Ray turned and smiled smugly at Fraser in the back.

"What kind of car do you drive, Fraser?" Mick looked at him in the rearview mirror.

Fraser cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, well, I, I'm afraid I—"

Ray cut him off. "He has a dog sled back in the Territories. While we're in Chicago, I'm his personal chauffeur and ATM."

"Oh. A dog sled...that's...interesting."

"Pfft—Yanks...they just don't get it," Fraser Sr. appeared and scoffed from beside Fraser. "Dogs are the only things that run in certain kinds of weather."

Fraser ignored his father and stared out the window for the duration of the ride.

Ray whistled low as they turned up the long drive to a modern, well-lit mansion. "Wow…I expected him to live in some sort of dark castle with all these secret passages and dungeons."

Mick shot him an amused look. "Oh, you don't get to be 400 without developing a little paranoia…Josef has every security feature known to man, and a maybe a few that aren't. Secret passages _may_ be included…but I probably shouldn't confirm that."

"I see," Ray said, wide-eyed.

Fraser finally looked to the seat beside him as they parked. "Dad?" he whispered. There was no answer. Fraser sighed in relief. "Good."

Mick ushered them quickly through a side door and up to a room on the second floor. He opened the door without knocking and let them into a room lined with bookcases. A young man with dark eyes sat behind a desk in front of a large picture window overlooking downtown Los Angeles.

The young man behind the desk looked from the man in the odd red uniform and hat, to the wolf, to the man in the strange suit, and back to the wolf again.

"Mick, when you offered to bring dinner, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Mick shrugged apologetically. "Josef Kostan, this is Constable Benton Fraser, and this is Detective Ray Vecchio."

Diefenbaker made a noise.

Mick glanced down at the wolf. "Uh, right. And…Diefenbaker, was it?"

"I…see. A pleasure to meet you…all," Josef made sure to include the wolf in his acknowledgement. The wolf's tail wagged happily. "So, whadja do, Mick—steal some…maple syrup…from the…zoo?"

"I was about to kill Lee Jay Spalding when they came out of nowhere and surprised me."

"And?"

"And now they need your help."

Josef looked pointedly at his friend. "Oh, they heard about how I moonlight as a tour guide at the Le Brea tar pits and need my help finding their way around?"

"No," Mick coughed, "not that kind of help, Josef. They're good guys—Apparently, they are from Chicago."

Josef made a triangle with his hands and swivelled slightly back and forth in his chair. "A little out of your jurisdiction, are you not?" he finally addressed Ray and Fraser.

"Well, yes, and of course I only have the authority to act on crimes pertaining to Canada," Fraser spoke up. "And to my knowledge, neither Mick nor Lee Jay Spalding are Canadian, nor do they have any connections to Canada."

Josef's eyes slid over to Ray. "So _you_ apprehended Mick?" he pointed at him.

"Uh, yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, I mean, that was my plan, but Fraser here convinced me it might not be in our best interest. You see, up in the north, there are wolves, and caribou, and Inuit, and—Fraser, tell him the wolf story!"

Josef held up a hand. "Wait a minute—I'm not ready for wolves just yet." He glanced at Diefenbaker again. "Although I'm admittedly curious."

"Oh, well the story isn't about Diefenbaker, specifically—although I do have plenty of stories about him. You see, three years ago, I fell into Prince Rupert Sound, and—"

Josef made a sharp hand movement and Fraser stopped talking. "First things first—what are you doing in Los Angeles…Constable?"

"Well, as Mick said, we appeared—quite literally—out of nowhere. You see, we were walking along a street in Chicago—in broad daylight, might I add—when suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of Los Angeles…at night. A bit of a predicament, as you can imagine. Mick thought you might have some ideas as to how we could get home again."

Josef shot an exasperated look at Mick. "Well, I have a private jet, but we just met, and I'm not really big on sharing—"

"Does this jet have time travel capabilities?" Ray cut in.

"Oh yes—thank you, Ray," Fraser said. "I neglected to mention that when we were in Chicago, it was 1995. And yet now we find ourselves here, in Los Angeles, in 1983."

Josef's eyebrows shot up. "_Huh_. Well that certainly changes things. But before we address that curious issue…who the _hell_ is that blurry man standing beside you, making faces at me?"

Fraser whipped his head around. "_Dad_!" he exclaimed.

Fraser Sr. held up his palms and shrugged. "I thought he couldn't see me! What else was I to do?"

Fraser turned back to Josef, pointing at his father. "—You can see him?!"

"He's faded, but visible. I can hear him, too, though again, he's quiet."

"But how come you can, where Mick cannot?"

Josef sat back in his chair, hands resting behind his head. "The older the vampire, the more powerful."

Fraser dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Ah. Understood."

Diefenbaker suddenly trotted up to Josef and leaned his head up against Josef's thigh. Josef glared down at the wolf. "What do _you_ want? Don't you know that animals are afraid of vampires?"

The wolf looked up at Josef with liquid brown eyes and started whining.

"Oh, dear," Fraser sighed. "I knew we should have stopped at a convenience store on the way here."

Ray rolled his eyes.

Fraser addressed his host, "I beg your pardon, but do you happen to have any junk food on the premises? Donuts, candy bars, even potato chips…anything of the like? I'm afraid he won't leave us alone otherwise. "

Josef scowled. "So he's hungry like a wolf—got it. Well, I do have some on hand for my…staff. I'll send for something." He pressed a button on the intercom and made the request. Diefenbaker put his paws up on Josef's thighs and started licking his face.

"Ugh! Stop it—get him off me!"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Well, he's facing you, so you'll have to tell him yourself—because, you see, he's deaf. But he can read lips. You'll just have to enunciate."

Josef scowled at the wolf. "Get…off…me…exclamation mark!"

With a final lick, Diefenbaker removed his paws from Josef's lap and lay down on the ground beside his chair.

"Yeesh," Josef scrubbed at his cheek with one hand and frantically tried to brush the hair off his shiny shirt with another.

A knock came at the door and a man appeared in the doorway with a handful of candy bars and raised an eyebrow questioningly at his employer. Josef rolled his eyes, shook his head, and indicated with a flick of his fingers for the man to toss them to the wolf. "And get me a wet, soapy cloth and a lint roller, _stat_."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Kostan," Fraser said tentatively.

"Please, don't mention it—really. My reputation would never withstand it." Josef shot another look at Mick, who shrugged apologetically. "So, anyway, because your journey to finding out that vampires existed included travel through time, thus rendering your story completely unbelievable, I'll go easy on you and let you live." He twirled a pencil between his fingers. "—But if you _ever_ talk about vampires with _anyone_, you are dead men. Not _un_dead—but _dead_ dead—irregardless of what city or decade you are in at the time."

"Yeah. Got it." Ray nodded curtly.

"Ah, I think you mean 'regardless'…"

"_Fraser_!" Ray said urgently.

Fraser cleared his throat hastily. "Uh, er… _Understood_."

Josef stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly. "Okay…now…what were you doing just before you came here?

"We were about to search a dumpster for evidence."

"Then my suggestion is to go back to where you started and try and find a dumpster. Perhaps that's the source of the…the, I don't know, the"—Josef waved his hand around in a circle—"_glitch_ in the _time–space continuum_."

"Ah. An excellent suggestion. Thank you kindly."

Josef tilted his head regally in acknowledgement to Fraser. "Now…I'm hungry."

Ray threw his hands up and took a swift step back. "Whoa—Mick swore we were not on the menu!"

"And you are so definitely not—trust me," Josef wrinkled his nose distastefully. "No offense. Now, please—get out of my office…so I can order in. This is the last time I let Mick volunteer to pick up dinner."

* * *

"Phew," Ray exhaled on the steps of Josef's mansion. "That was… Is he always like that?"

The corner of Mick's lip twitched upwards. "Like what?"

Ray shook his head. "Never mind."

Mick led the way back to his car. Fraser climbed into the back seat and Diefenbaker hopped onto the middle seat beside him. Ray shut the door after the wolf and settled into the front. "Let's hope Josef was right about that dumpster," he said over his shoulder as he reached for his seat belt.

"I'm sure he is correct, Ray. He seemed very wise, and it's a perfectly plausible and logical theory."

Fraser's father suddenly appeared in the seat on the other side of Diefenbaker. "_I_ could have told you that!" he scoffed.

Fraser sighed. "Told me what?"

"About the dumpster—I could have told you that. Could've been home hours ago."

"Well, then why didn't you?" Fraser said through his teeth.

Fraser Sr. shrugged, "Well, you always hate it when I interfere…"

"_Interfere_?!"

"All right, all right…" Fraser Sr. waved his hand at his son to calm him down. "It's my fault, I know that. If I'd better prepared you, you wouldn't be floundering around like this."

"Prepared me for what—_time travel_? And I'm not exactly over my head, Dad—we got a lead on how to get home."

"Ah, but you had to get it from a 400-year-old vampire. If this had happened to me when I was your age, I'd have found my way long before now. Your generation has become too dependant," he shook a finger at his son.

Fraser rolled his eyes.

"You know, Benton, when I first joined the Mounted Police, all the equipment we got was a paper bag and a pointed stick. We used the bag to boil tea, and the stick was for killing game—and if you lost either of them…they charged you for it!"

Fraser stared at his father. "Are you _ill_?"

"Well, no…I'm dead, son. Remember?"

"You never let me forget it."

Ray cleared his throat. "You all right back there, Benny?"

"Oh, yes, fine, Ray."

Ten minutes later, Mick pulled the car over and put it in park. "Well, we're back at the scene of the crime…and I see a dumpster over there." He pointed down an alleyway.

Mick sauntered along behind as his passengers scrambled out of the car and over to the dumpster.

Ray threw up his hands. "Okay, Fraser, we're standing next to a dumpster, and we're still in Los Angeles. Now what?!"

"Well, Ray, perhaps we should try entering the dumpster, as we'd originally intended."

"_You_ intended, Fraser, _you_—it's _always_ you with the dumpsters. Just promise me you won't lick anything unless it's absolutely essential to time travel, all right?"

"Understood." Fraser tried to lift one side of the lid, grunting as it wouldn't budge. "Huh—the lid appears to be stuck." He tried the other side and met with the same success. He peered around over his shoulder. "Ray, hand me that metal pipe over there—perhaps I can use it as a lever and pry the lid open."

Ray looked around, saw where Fraser was pointing, walked over and picked the pipe up off the ground. Fraser took the pipe from him and made a gesture with his hand. "Uh, Ray, would you mind—?"

"Why do I always have to be the fulcrum?!" Ray scowled.

"—Uh, guys?" Mick stepped in between them and lifted up one side of the lid with a grunt and one hand.

Ray smiled smugly at Fraser. "Look, Fraser—he was the lever _and_ the fulcrum. What would your buddy Archimedes say to that?"

Fraser threw up his hands. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not a vampire with superior strength, Ray."

"I bet that's exactly what he'd say!" Ray replied triumphantly.

Fraser furrowed his brow. "No, I mean I—"

Ray held up a finger. "Don't you dare start giving me Medieval Latin."

"I think you mean Ancient Greek, Ray. Archimedes was—"

Mick cleared his throat to interrupt and extended a hand to the two men. "Well…I would say it was nice meeting you guys…but maybe I'd better go with surreal."

"Yeah, well, same to you," Ray said, wide-eyed, as he pumped Mick's hand.

"Thank you kindly for everything, Mick," Fraser returned Mick's handshake. "—Dief?"

Diefenbaker barked once at Mick before jumping into the dumpster. Fraser smiled, touched his hat and put a boot up to brace himself for the leap into the dumpster, then stopped. "Dad?" he called softly and peered around. When his father didn't appear, he sighed in relief. "…_Good_. Now, if only he'd stay here…" With one last lopsided grin at Mick, he vaulted into the dumpster.

Ray peered into the dumpster after him. "…Benny? …Dief? Hey, they disappeared! It must have worked!" he shook his head. "Man, I just hope this is the dumpster that takes us back to Chicago and not the Land of the Dinosaurs or Narnia or something. Well, wish us luck, Mick!" He grasped the top edge of the dumpster and was about to step up and launch himself over the side when he stopped and turned back to Mick. "You know, I just had a thought… We ended up in L.A., I wonder if there was some kind of tradeoff; if anyone from here sometime ended up in Chicago sometime?"

Mick shrugged. "I guess we'll never know."

* * *

_Chicago__, 1997..._

* * *

Lieutenant Welsh stuck his head out of his office door, looked around, and beckoned to a bewildered Carl Davis who had suddenly appeared in the middle of the squad room.

"You there—you the new detective?"

"Uh, I'm _a_ detective…sir?"

"Good. Come into my office. One of our detectives, Ray Vecchio, just went into deep cover with the mob. You'll be taking his place."

"What? I am? Um…" Carl stammered.

"Speechless? Good. I like you better than Vecchio already. Unless…you don't have any Mountie friends, do you?"

"Uh, no."

"Good," Welsh said curtly and started to bend down to sit in his chair. Suddenly he stopped and eyed Carl sharply. "—Wolves?"

Carl's eyebrows shot up. "Wolves? Uh, no?"

"Good," Welsh nodded approvingly. "You're hired."

"Uh, thank you, sir?"

"Your desk is over there against the wall next to Huey and Dewey."

"—Huey and Dewey, sir?"

Welsh took his glasses off. "It used to be Huey and Louis, but Louis got blown up."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that—but don't you think it's kind of funny that his replacement should also have the name of one of Donald Duck's—?"

Welsh sighed, put his glasses back on and flicked his fingers at the door. "You're dismissed, Vecchio."

"—Vecchio? My name is Davis, sir."

"Not anymore, it isn't. Weren't you listening to a word I said? You are taking Vecchio's place—you are now Detective Raymond Vecchio. You'll find a briefing report about your life on your desk, should you ever get out of my office." Welsh waved a hand at the door again without looking up from the paper he was reading.

Carl went over to his new desk and flipped open the report.

"_Italian_?!"


End file.
